The Confirmation Read online

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  The following morning, Annie lay in a supine position on top of the bed, hands clasped across her chest and with a cold wet flannel pressed to her forehead. It wasn’t the worst hangover in the world but she had attempted to rise two hours earlier and merely made it to the bathroom for flannel and painkillers. Setting aside the dull, throbbing headache it was the fact of drinking to excess that shocked her most. Mornings lost to overindulgence were a thing of the past – mostly consigned to student and early working years and more or less now reserved for birthdays and other festivities. Friday night dinner with the usual suspects did not normally lead her to drink to excess. There was so much to do on a Saturday. A thirty-minute run followed by shower, fresh morning rolls from the baker’s and then the lists. She lived her life by lists, adding to them, ticking items off and creating new ones but perhaps that was it – last night hadn’t just been the usual suspects.

  Annie tried to piece together what had happened after James left and why she had seemingly abandoned her normal state of cautious reserve. She remembered plonking herself down next to Duncan, nudging him to stay awake and chat. Unused to anyone trying desperately to keep him up and socialising, Duncan had discovered an energetic second wind and had gone off to open his favourite late-bottled vintage port. The others saw this as a great opportunity to make their excuses and depart, even his own wife, who looked across to Annie, then turned to look at her beckoning bedroom door and turned back with a smile that suggested both relief and gratitude.

  As she lay contemplating a second attempt at rising to face the day, Annie tried desperately to remember what they had been talking about all night but realised that was less important than the fact that she had just wanted to talk and not go home to sleep. All her senses seemed to have been heightened by her encounter with the stranger from across the hall and she had felt ready to witter on about anything and everything. Eventually exhausted by his new-found drinking chum, Duncan had suggested it was time to call a taxi and he too had looked longingly towards his bedroom door.

  As Annie lay trying not to move her head, the kitten managed to scramble up the side of the mahogany sleigh bed, leaving, as she discovered later, tiny scratches on the side of the frame. He pulled the flannel off with his tiny claws and sat on her face licking at the cold wet residue on her forehead. It was now definitely time to get up and face what was left of the day. She managed a quick shower – all thoughts of a brisk jog around Inverleith Park had receded long ago – and then made herself some tea and toast. As she was beginning to return to normality the phone rang. The phone only ever rang on a Saturday morning if the caller was offering compensation for some five-year-old accident she’d forgotten all about, was offering to supply and fit new windows for any room in the house – or it was Annie’s mother.

  Helen Anderson lived in a stunning penthouse apartment in the West End of Edinburgh having moved there the year after Annie’s father died. It was a rational, unsentimental move and made eminent sense to Annie that her mother should leave the rambling five-bedroomed home for somewhere smaller and easier to keep – less room for memories.

  A family home needed to be filled with school uniforms, rugby kit and hockey sticks, Helen had proclaimed. The rooms should echo to the sound of children’s laughter. Annie struggled with the rationale, given that her father had, for various reasons, rarely been at home during his working life. She was an only child and as such it was really only mother and daughter who rattled around the vast rooms and extensive gardens during her adolescence. Neither laughter nor the detritus of school sporting activities were much in evidence at ‘Forth View’ as Annie was growing up. On the occasions when her father did appear she broke free from her mother’s regime of strict rules and orders and clung on to him – both physically and to his every word.

  Annie picked up the phone and before she could utter any word of greeting her mother’s voice boomed down the line.

  ‘Annie dear, it’s your mother. What are you doing tomorrow?’

  That was it – short and to the point. If Annie’s mental faculties had been operating at even half normal capacity she would have thought of something. It might not have been entirely plausible but it would have allowed her a bit of thinking space.

  ‘Nothing, Mother, why?’ She heard herself say the words but it was too late to pull back.

  ‘That’s lovely, dear. The McHargs have tickets to some Hebrides thing at the Queen’s Hall. There really is no one else I could think of to ask. It’s just not everyone’s cup of tea.’

  ‘Hebrides what, Mother?’ Annie asked. ‘I don’t know what that means and I don’t know what on earth makes you think I would enjoy it, whatever it is.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, dear,’ Helen replied sounding a bit crestfallen. ‘Of course you don’t have to. I think it might be some kind of chamber group but really, don’t worry about it. I’ll just let the McHargs know it’s really not for us.’

  Annie recoiled. We are not an ‘us’ she felt like screaming but then feeling that familiar combination of duty, guilt and daughterly love she said, ‘It’s fine, Mother, we’ll go. I just hadn’t heard of them, that’s all.’

  ‘Okay, lovely, darling, I’ll speak to you later to make arrangements.’ Annie said her goodbyes and as she made her way wearily into the kitchen to feed the kitten the phone rang again. It was Kirsty.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re in. I really just wanted to apologise for inflicting Mr Kerr on you. What a difficult dinner guest and just so rude. All very disappointing really.’

  ‘No, really, he wasn’t that bad.’ Annie felt an odd need to defend the man. ‘Okay, he was a little bit rude but for whatever reason he obviously feels quite strongly about the big issues of the day. We’re just not used to it on a Friday night, Kirst.’

  ‘Duncan’s worried that you were so hacked off that you decided to blot out the experience by throwing yourself into a full-on session with his nibs,’ Kirsty went on, regardless.

  ‘No, honestly, it was fine,’ Annie protested. She really couldn’t take any more difficult conversations today. ‘How is Duncan anyway?’ she asked, changing tack.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Kirsty sighed. ‘Fine I think – he’s sloped off back to bed. So funny though, this morning when he woke he said he’d decided to call our neighbour JFK. Not in a good way though – James “Fucking” Kerr! Hilarious, I thought. Anyway must dash. Want to get down to Armstrong’s and see if they’ve any red mullet left.’

  And with that she was off.

  The remainder of Saturday passed by in a bit of a blur. True to form Annie managed to tick off most things on her list – all achieved at a slightly more sedate pace than normal. Sunday morning dawned and she felt a lot more like her old self. It still felt unseasonably warm for the beginning of September in Edinburgh. She enjoyed her run round the park and made her way down to the boating pond, drinking in the views of the imposing Edinburgh skyline silhouetted against the clear blue sky. She bought the large cellophane-wrapped package that comprised The Sunday Times from the newsvendor at the corner of Portgower Place, a takeaway coffee from the café on Raeburn Place and skipped down the stairs to her basement flat in Dean Terrace.

  Annie felt a strange sense of wellbeing. She caught up with housework, some emails and generally pottered around the flat. As she was enjoying the second coffee of the day, with the kitten asleep in her lap, she realised that the man who had caused such upset two days before had been in her thoughts ever since. Not always up front and centre – sometimes lurking in the dark recesses but there nonetheless. Well, this is an interesting development, she thought, smiling to herself. The likelihood of meeting him again in any kind of social setting seemed remote but she decided she would probe Kirsty later in the week for a bit more of his backstory.

  Finally it was time to get ready to meet Mother. They had arranged to meet at the entrance to the Queen’s Hall. Converted from
a church sometime in the seventies, the Hall was home to the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and a venue for visiting folk and jazz bands, particularly during festival season. As Annie crossed Clerk Street she noticed from the billboards at the front of the building that the ‘Hebrides thing’ was in fact the Hebrides Ensemble, a collective of world-class musicians based in Scotland performing a wide range of styles in chamber music, opera etc.

  This might actually be quite good.

  Mother was already there, dressed up to the nines.

  ‘My, Mother, you look lovely,’ Annie exclaimed, at the same time thinking she wouldn’t be out of place at Covent Garden Opera House.

  ‘You too, darling,’ Helen replied. ‘Jean and Alasdair are already in the bar.’

  Helen, a vision in faux fur, marched off in front of Annie straight to the McHargs standing holding their warm gin and tonics. Annie noticed how her mother, after the requisite number of air kisses, essentially ignored Jean and focused all her attention on Captain McHarg. Scots Guards, you know. Well groomed, highly polished and an authority on every subject matter under the sun. Annie found him slightly nauseating but her mother literally fawned over the man. He was nothing like her father, nothing at all. As Annie approached her mother’s friends she suddenly noticed the particularly tall gentleman in the far corner of the room whose head seemed to hover above all other patrons crammed into the bar area. Her heart skipped a beat. The Captain was talking to her but she wasn’t listening. There he was, same linen suit, same piercing blue eyes, engaged in earnest conversation with… who? Annie couldn’t quite make out if his companion was a man or woman. Well, the art of sustained conversation clearly isn’t completely beyond him, she thought to herself. As she strained to get a better view, Annie felt the tug of her mother’s hand on the sleeve of her camel coat.

  Annie, Helen and the McHargs took their seats plumb in the middle of the upper gallery with wonderful views of the whole stage. The music, a new piece from Peter Maxwell Davies, was lively and interesting and Annie determined to relax and let the music flow through her. She closed her eyes but as she did so his face filled the space she had intended to leave for purely meditative thoughts. She began to wonder where he might be seated and scoured the central and side galleries for any sign but to no avail. She decided that he must be sitting downstairs and proceeded to give herself over to the enchanting sounds of cello, violin and flute. After two hours, the thoroughly enjoyable concert drew to a close; the group took their bows to the sound of rapturous applause and the patrons made their way to the exits. The McHargs kindly offered lifts to both Anderson ladies but as they lived on the other side of the city, Annie politely declined the offer.

  ‘Plenty of black cabs at this time of night,’ she insisted and began to follow her mother outside.

  As the McHargs departed, Annie felt a hand press softly onto her shoulder. She knew immediately it was James and turned to see him smiling, eyes glinting in the dim evening twilight.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ he exclaimed. ‘Lovely to bump into you like this.’

  Annie’s mother turned, eyebrows raised, staring over her glasses at the tall stranger.

  ‘Oh, Mother, this is James, Kirsty and Duncan’s new neighbour,’ she said quickly, aware she was sounding a bit flustered.

  James and Helen smiled politely at each other but he quickly returned his gaze to Annie. She wanted to usher her mother away but at the same time felt an inexplicable desire to remain firmly rooted to the spot.

  ‘Look, you may just want to tell me to take a hike but I really would like us to start again.’ He looked at her, almost pleading. ‘I understand if you think I was being a bit obnoxious the other night but…’

  ‘Come on, dear, we’re going to let all the taxis go at this rate.’ Annie heard her mother from over her shoulder.

  ‘Okay. Let’s arrange coffee or something.’

  ‘Lovely,’ he replied. ‘Why don’t you just give me a buzz at work, whatever works for you really.’ He too was beginning to sound a bit flustered as he desperately looked for a pen from the inside of his jacket. He quickly scribbled down a number on the back of the concert programme before shoving the crumpled paper into Annie’s hand and holding on as he did so.

  ‘You’d better run,’ he whispered gently. She didn’t want to move. His voice sounded so much softer than it had during that awkward dinner and she just wanted to stay there in that moment holding his hand and listening to his unexpectedly soothing voice. Helen, however, was growing more and more impatient. Annie turned briefly to see that one of her trademark glowers was beginning to take shape.

  ‘Okay, bye then.’ Reluctantly she drew her hand away, all the while smiling back at him.

  Annie turned, grabbed Helen by the arm, and practically dragged her off down Clerk Street.

  ‘Okay, dear. Slow down for your old mother now,’ Helen protested. ‘And where did you say you met that man?’ she asked.

  Annie wasn’t quite ready for the big interrogation so gave a very brief résumé of the dinner from hell, missing out on the more interesting moments. Before she knew what was happening, Helen had been bundled into the next available cab and Annie spent the duration of the taxi ride asking questions about the McHargs’ children, the quality of service provided by the new cleaners in her mother’s apartment complex and then rounded everything off by enquiring after the health of assorted friends and relatives. Helen was in her element and soon forgot all about the new man.

  Annie didn’t sleep at all well that night, even after administering a few drops of Rescue Remedy in the early hours. She tossed and turned, trying to make sense of the last forty-eight hours. He clearly was an attractive man, physically – well, to her anyway – and she had felt some kind of connection. Niggling away, however, was the thought that he was probably quite difficult. Then again, given their limited contact, she couldn’t be sure how difficult. Facts were he could be abrupt and rude but then it probably wasn’t fair to come to any fixed view on the basis of one of Kirsty and Duncan’s slightly chaotic dinner parties. But why invest in any of it? What was to be gained?

  Eventually she put the light on and tried to read her book but her mind drifted from the page in front of her. He was clearly a few years older than her, which probably meant emotional baggage. There would be a number of good reasons why it wouldn’t work as a proper relationship. Not for the long haul anyway and if you weren’t in it for the long haul what on earth was the point? Not that she’d ever let anything get close to being long term or permanent. She’d never had her heart broken; slightly bruised perhaps, but nothing too dramatic. Only one really serious relationship when she thought about it and really it wasn’t anyone’s fault. He’d had to go away with work. A young doctor volunteering with Médecins Sans Frontières. Utterly admirable, that’s what everyone else thought. And of course they were right but it just wouldn’t have worked. Not with the distance and the time spent apart. Best just to end it before anyone got really hurt.

  And she was fine with that. Didn’t really do the ‘overwrought emotion’ thing. It had just seemed such a waste of time and energy. No locking yourself away from friends and family for days on end, crying yourself to sleep, finding solace in a bottle of gin. No, these things happened to other people and she, Annie, reassuringly calm and rational, just got on with her life. No one would have noticed any real difference but Annie knew. She knew that another impenetrable layer had covered her heart and there was no earthly reason to think that it would be breached this time.

  Annie closed her book, switched off the light and finally fell asleep.

  She woke to the sound of the alarm with that familiar feeling of heavy exhaustion experienced after a night of broken sleep. It wasn’t unusual for her to feel this way on a Monday morning but normally her head was full of preparation for the week ahead. Reading over witness depositions, preparing for employment tr
ibunals, checking over settlement agreements. This morning really felt like a duvet day but it wasn’t going to happen. She hauled herself out of bed, stood under the shower willing herself awake and finally emerged from the bathroom to pull on her cream silk blouse and tailored black trouser suit – all big pockets, big pleats but not too big shoulder pads. Annie could never face breakfast first thing in the morning so poured a glass of orange juice and made a quick cup of coffee. After the kitten was fed and litter tray cleaned, she took the brand new Nike Air Max trainers out of their box, the almost fluorescent white shoe and bright blue swoosh making her head throb, slipped her feet in and felt an immediate sense of cosy, cushioning comfort. Papers were filed back into the briefcase from whence they had come. Nothing had been reviewed, checked or annotated but Annie felt at least some satisfaction that papers had made it out of the office and, indeed, out of the briefcase for a weekend break.

  The walk to work was all uphill but she liked to stretch her legs and feel her heart pumping, energised by the time she got to the front door of Saunders and MacKay in Moray Place. She really stretched out going up Gloucester Lane, feeling her new dazzling trainers slip slightly on the dewy cobbles. Temperatures had fallen quite dramatically overnight and there was a chill feel to the air, another sign that the festival city was returning to normality. Annie ignored the lactic acid build-up in her calf muscles and strode out impressively all the way to the top of the hill, collected herself during the more sedate amble along Queen Street and finally entered the noble elegance of Moray Place. Annie never tired of the nineteenth-century grand classical porticos and pillars that greeted her as she faced the twentieth-century world of commerce and litigation.

  She entered the ground floor offices at No. 31. ‘Anyone mind if I open a window?’

  ‘Not at all,’ a few voices murmured, less than enthusiastically.

  ‘Okay, just for a minute.’

  Annie noticed that Bryce’s office was empty, muttered something about a quick private phone call and went in, quietly shutting the door behind her. Well, obviously I am going to call him, she thought to herself and pulled the crumpled programme from her bag. Her heart was racing as she made the call. ‘James Kerr’s phone’ was the polite feminine greeting at the end of the line. Her heart sank and she replaced the receiver, saying nothing. Well, that’s that, she thought. There’s tons to do so just get him out of your head and press on with McMurray v Lothian Regional Council. She returned to her desk feeling just a bit deflated but got on with the business of the day.